Chaos of the Heart
by bg Roman
Summary: Romance/Angst/Humor: After Rick discovers his girlfriend, the beguiling Deputy Director Adele, is dating him to spy on the ODS team for Higgins, he is embarrassed and heartbroken. When the team decides to retaliate, things don't go exactly to plan.
1. The Discovery

_A/N: For fun, I am writing this story in a different style. I appreciate comments and reviews about the story, its style, or anything else._

Romance/Angst/Humor: After Rick discovers his girlfriend, the beguiling Deputy Director Adele, is dating him to spy on the ODS team for Higgins, he is embarrassed and heartbroken. When the team decides to retaliate, things don't go exactly to plan.

Chaos of the Heart: Chapter 1: The Discovery

One day, while carrying out his regular spy work, Rick is stunned to find evidence that Adele has an ulterior motive to dating him. He discovers that she is conspiring with Higgins and using him to find out the ODS team's secrets. Oh, no, he realizes, everything he thought about her was wrong and he is mortified that he was susceptible to her charms and clueless enough to fall for her deception. He is furious, and, in no uncertain terms, shouting and making a huge scene in front of everyone at a staff meeting about her slipping him a bugged phone, he sends her packing. "You broke my heart," he tells her. His big heart.

Adele is ashamed to have been found out, especially in front of everybody, and reacts scornfully, scoffing at Rick's naivety. She turns her back on him and stalks out of the meeting, tossing her long blond locks dismissively. "I can do better, " she says to anyone who will listen. She is the youngest and the prettiest Deputy Director the agency ever had, and she can get anybody she wants, she tells herself. Rick was merely a stepping stone and she is over him already.

His trust in women shattered, Rick's heart hardens and he throws himself into his work, where his teammates regale him with amusing stories of girl problems and betrayal, assuring Rick he will quickly recover and become a happier man, a carefree cynic like themselves. They call Adele bad things, using crude terms that Rick, the kind of sweet man he is, would never call any women, no, not even the contemptible Adele.

Despite his intention to put Adele out of his mind, memories come to him unbidden, memories from their most intimate moments at the end of the day, and how, as the usual prelude to the main event, she would inquire about his day, her customary habit of inserting a little shop talk into their pillow talk, questions he would answer with candor while petting her silky lavender-scented hair, oh, yes, he was thoroughly debriefed, as it were, an open book to her, always assuming it was natural that she was so interested in his work, in his adventures, in his safety, in his gossip. He remembered politely reciprocating and inquiring about her day, and being privately pleased she always brushed him off, claiming nothing of interest ever happened in her boring job, pleased, because this allowed him to proceed, to ravish the delights of her body with its delicious skin like honeyed cream.

Oh, the torment, as he understood her true intent! Oh, the anguish, realizing he had so easily succumbed to her devious and expert manipulation! The torture he inflicts upon himself, realizing she had been so cold and duplicitous and he so open and trusting, is intense and never-ending.

Meanwhile Adele is unhappy. She serial dates a lot of men but dumps each one before the end of the first date. None have quite the attraction that she hopes for. They are either too vain, too controlling, too jaded, or too tall, no matter what the reason, there is always something wrong with every guy she meets. She can't help comparing them to Rick and finding them lacking. She begins to pine for the sweet naive agent with the big heart in the body of a movie star. She suffers. She suffers terribly. Too late, she realizes, she ruined the only nice guy left on the planet, the one she had in her arms, when she so thoughtlessly used and discarded him. It was deplorable! She feels unworthy of the perfect man that Rick was, and, tragically, no longer is, due to her own treachery. Her stubborn pride, and the belief that he hates her, keeps her from throwing herself at his feet.

Rick travels with his ODS teammates carrying out dangerous missions far and wide, but rather than forget Adele he can't stop himself secretly fantasizing about her. His preoccupation with her makes him lose his concentration at the worst possible moments, like when he was in Budapest and got distracted by a fleeting glimpse of a long-haired blonde and forgot his cover name. Over and over, his mistakes imperil the mission. Over and over, the team covers for Rick, so no one at headquarters knows of his errors. Rick gets so bad at his job that Michael fears for the lives of everyone on the team. "Rick has lost more than 2%," Casey says, "more like 200%! It's off the charts!" He's a menace to the team they tell Rick. Rick breaks down and confesses the awful, wretched truth: he still loves Adele.

Concerned for their newest teammate, Michael, Casey, and Billy desperately strategize and try out ideas to rehabilitate Rick, but each plan fails spectacularly despite everyone's best efforts. Finally, Michael tells Rick he has to kick him off the ODS team. "Go back and take a desk job, " advises Billy kindly. "Face it, you're finished for field work, " says Casey, rather less kindly.

Rick imagines returning to Langley, contemplating what it would be like there: hanging out with the idiot doofus Blanke, fending off Doris's increasingly aggressive sexual advances, constantly on the alert to avoid running into Adele. It is everything he despises. Times ten. Times a hundred. Times a thousand. Rick asks Michael to give him a suicide mission, preferring a proud kamikaze flame-out to a pathetic desk job, but Michael refuses. Rick promises he will forget Adele, saying that he just needs a little more time, and, when they resist, humiliates himself completely by begging to stay on the team. Michael reluctantly says he will think about it.

Rick despairs, he agonizes, he mulls over quitting the CIA altogether and starting his life over. All through this, his sorrowing heart weeps for Adele. What should he do? What will he do? 


	2. The Tailspin

Chaos of the Heart: Chapter 2: The Tailspin

After their breakup, Rick suffers persistent insomnia and spends all night, every night, tossing and turning, his mind gripped and torn by the traumatic loss of the woman he thinks of as his one true love, the blue-eyed golden-haired beauty who had fallen hard off the pedestal on which he had placed her. Fatigue from lack of sleep causes dark circles to form under his eyes, his face to sag, his eyes to go dull. And, too tired in the mornings to shave, he lets his beard grow. He routinely forgets to shower, wears wrinkled suits, loosely tied ties, mismatched socks, and shirts unbuttoned so far that his undershirt can be seen below his unshaven neck. Lavender-scented no more, he goes feral, exuding a manly sweaty smell. Rick violates the ODS Team's dress code repeatedly and severely. His disheveled appearance reflects his mental deterioration.

His teammates try everything to help him out. Warm milk. Boring books. Tedious documentaries. Intense workouts. Many a night one or other of his teammates falls asleep first, while Rick spends the night pacing, staring vacantly, and worshipping his honey-skinned double-crossing goddess. No matter what Billy, Casey, or Michael suggest to remedy his affliction, or how hard he tries, Rick does not improve. He seems to be in an uncontrollable downward spiral heading straight for a fiery crash. Petrified they will kick him off the team, Rick finally tells them what he knows they want to hear. He is over Adele and he hates her with a white-hot burning passion. He lies. White-hot burning passion, true. Hate, false. But Michael, Billy, and Casey buy Rick's story, because it makes sense, they all hate Adele for what she has done. Michael relents and allows Rick to stay on the team.

Eventually the team is scheduled to return to headquarters. Even though Rick is a complete wreck, Michael cannot delay their return anymore. The fact that they had encouraged Rick to take a chance on love pricks their consciences, and bolsters their empathy for him and his predicament. And furthermore, just as none of the ODS team would ever leave an injured teammate on the battlefield, so they could not abandon their newest teammate, injured on the battlefield of love. Therefore, even before the team arrives in Langley, they put together, and start implementing, a plan of action to conceal Rick's problem, to heal his love damage, to recover his abilities, and, just as importantly, to protect his and the ODS team's reputation.

Before their return, Michael starts planting rumors through his primary contact in the agency's gossip-mill, Fay. The rumor is - as spread by Fay - that Rick, free of Adele's clutches, is now an insatiable womanizer and parties hard every night. Rick routinely comes to work hung-over, terribly hung-over, quite the worse for wear as everyone will plainly see, but despite this, his prowess as a spy is unmatched. The ODS team has never had a better recruit! This is the message they send out for all the ears at the agency to hear, especially Adele's.

Casey starts his role next, initiating a dalliance with Doris. "Doris likes a lap-sized man," points out Casey when he volunteers, and he's the same height as Rick. "She hasn't much lap," he says, reminding them he's proven he can handle tight spaces, for long durations. He laughs and counters his teammates surprise and disgust with a ready quip, telling them they should not knock cougars until they've tried them. Casey begins working remotely to attract Doris attention and keep her off Rick's back.

Billy is assigned to shadow Rick. Every second Rick will be outside the ODS office is a hazard. At any moment, without warning, Rick might cross paths with Adele. In his current state of mind, or rather, lack thereof, this would spell disaster. He is in no condition to interact with her. Not a word. Not a glance. They all knew he'd be undone in an instant. They think, because he hates her. He knows, because he is enchanted by her. Therefore, Billy is to accompany Rick everywhere, keeping an eye out, and running interference. When Rick is within view of Adele, he is to stare intently at his cell-phone, leering, as if one of his pretended conquests were sexting him and blurting out random obscenities as though he had Tourette's syndrome. If necessary, Billy will grab Rick's elbow and steer him, to keep him from walking into walls.

As to Adele, well, after her frantic efforts to land a new boyfriend sputtered out, she is forced to face how much she desires her sweet Rick. She is alarmed by a disturbing discovery. It turns out that she, a young but battle-hardened and seasoned spy originally hired as a field agent, one who had vaulted quickly into the upper echelons of the agency because she was always willing to do whatever it takes to succeed, had broken a cardinal rule of spies, the one cardinal rule that should not be broken, an error that would appall Higgins and anyone else who found it out: _never fall in love with your asset_. Sometime, somehow, while she was seducing and using naïve sweet Rick – when or how this happened, she could not quite pinpoint – sometime, somehow, while she was busy prying the ODS's secrets out of him, he had softly, stealthily, and very, very gently, stolen her heart. She couldn't believe it! The naughty, darling _thief_.

To learn news of Rick, she discreetly pours over every detail of the agency's communications with the ODS team. She hopes to find some sign, some evidence, that Rick might take her back. She does not find it. Quite the opposite. She discovers that Rick appears to be doing very well, he appears to have forgotten her, moved on, and turned into a cad. So horrified is she at herself for her odious treatment of him, she renounces all men. All men! Sweet Rick was the only one for her, and he is gone. The new Rick, as portrayed in the ubiquitous rumors, is a bad Rick. He is sweet no more. She blames herself. She is a monster! She is a monster who created a monster! She decides she deserves to be perpetually unhappy and to die alone.

To prevent men from hitting on her, Adele takes to dressing very modestly, in high-necked blouses, in subdued colors, applying no makeup, rolling up her long blond hair into a neat bun. She never smiles. Carrying a somber briefcase and wearing sensible shoes, she looks like an old-maid librarian. She behaves like a nun. Higgins is pleased with her studiousness and, believing himself her beloved mentor, takes an interest in her career and encourages her newfound work ethic.

As the moment of the ODS team's impending return to headquarters draws ever nearer, the intensity with which Rick and Adele fret and agonize and despair over each other increases exponentially.


	3. The Rumors

Chaos of the Heart: Chapter 3: The Rumors

The objective of Michael's plan is to cure the now alarmingly error-prone and useless Rick and to preserve the ODS team's reputation. Any other objectives he may have in mind, he does not say. Following standard spy procedure, Michael tells his agents only what they need to know, in case they are compromised in the field.

When the ODS team arrives back at Langley, Michael launches the plan's second phase, assisted by Fay, by spreading more rumors. These are whispered from ear to ear, spreading rapidly to all the thousands of employees of the agency. Rick - so one rumor goes - is seducing vast numbers of women, a different woman each night. Rick is a prize highly sought after because he is phenomenal in bed, but, after a single night of unforgettably skilled and scorching passion, no matter how much his paramours cry or cling or beg him to stay, he always moves on. In another rumor, Rick can drink anyone under the table. His ability to hold his liquor is extraordinary. In yet another, Rick is an ace in the field. His triumphs of spy craft are the stuff of legend. He is a legend! The rumors grow and morph and spread widely, becoming more elaborate with each retelling. The rumors go viral and take on a life of their own. Soon, every woman at the agency, young or old, single or married, wants to be with him, and every man wants to be him.

But Rick is exhausted, not from his incredible sexual exploits or boozing all night but from incessant insomnia. It is even worse now that he is back at headquarters, breathing the same air as Adele. He tortures himself all night, every night, pining for her. It troubles him that she'd never told him she loved him. Although implied, she had never actually said the words. Oh, the woman played him for a fool! He knows it doesn't make any sense, but he still adores the gorgeous power-hungry man-eating devil-woman in an angel's body. He admires her ambition and dedication to her job even though he considers her methods vile and immoral. Oh, there's no denying she was good, she was very, very good. Does love ever make sense, he debates endlessly with himself. Unfortunately, he had found her out, and, without a single thought, cast her off. In front of everybody! An unforgiveable indiscretion, so obvious to him now, and, however much he wants to, he can't undo it. It is over, he laments, she is gone, gone forever and ever.

Rick wants to go to Adele and beg her for forgiveness. He is willing to endure any amount of humiliation to restore their relationship, whatever it was, even willing to humiliate himself for the mere chance of it, but he must pretend he hates her. Furthermore Michael forbids him any contact with her. That is the price he pays to stay on the coveted ODS team, and he owes Michael a debt of gratitude bigger than the sun, since it is no exaggeration that Michael saved his life many times over. He will do anything that Michael asks!

Always terribly tired from lonely sleepless nights, Rick forgets to launder his shirts and dry-clean his suits, and one day he has nothing at all presentable to wear. By this time he is utterly careless of his appearance. He pulls on blue jeans, cowboy boots, and a black leather jacket directly over an undershirt, and struts into work with a full-on this-is-me take-it-or-leave-it attitude. When he steps out of the elevator, to the shocked gasps of everyone within view, he casually slips off his sunglasses, folds them, and dangles them at his breast, drawing even more attention to his undershirt, which clings lovingly to his muscly pecs and sculpted abs.

That day, meetings are halted and disbanded mid-session when presenters realize that no one is listening to them. All eyes are on Rick, wearily lounging in the audience, stretching and yawning, his feet up, cowboy boots splayed on the chair in front of him. In the hallways, women follow him, jostling each other to get a better view of his jean-clad booty; in the packed elevators, women jump in with him, elbowing each other out of the way for the privilege of standing next to him. When Rick is in the ODS office, working at his desk, women huddle in clumps in the hallway, looking at him through the window, giggling like fangirls if his bemused glance happens to go their way. There is a stampede, a near riot, every time he goes to the lunch room to get a coffee. Every woman at the agency is openly in love with Rick. Every woman, that is, with one notable exception. The exception being Adele.

Oh, Adele knows all about Rick. She hears all the rumors about him. It is impossible not to hear them, she'd have to be deaf or uninterested, and she was neither. They are salt into her wounds. And, not only has she heard them, she believes them. She has firsthand experience. Who wouldn't want to be with Rick? Rick is a special man. Rick is an unparalleled lover! But the Rick she knew was devoted and sweet, not a loathsome lothario. Now he is jaded and cynical, just like all other men. She has given up on men! Sweet Rick is no more, the new Rick is a bad Rick. A bad, bad Rick! A Rick who never ever looks at her.

When she happens to see Rick, her heart pounds and her mouth goes dry. Bad Rick looks so much like sweet Rick! The very twin, but he's so hot with his sexy rough edginess! She looks at Rick wistfully, wishing he'd look her way, wishing they could at least be friends, but whenever she sees him, he is always busy with his cell-phone, either fascinated or furious with it, and never returns her gaze. She wonders if it is just as well, because if he did look at her, even a mere glance, she might swoon on the spot. But they are over. She is over him. Although, mentally, she accepts this, physically, she does not. Just as all the other women do, she lusts for Rick. She hides her indecent longings with her overly demure attitude and constantly downcast eyes. Believing her obsession with Rick is destroying her life, she begs Higgins to pull some strings, hoping she can land an ambassador posting and leave the agency.

Michael learns of Adele's job search and rushes his plan into the next phase. It must be carried off before she escapes the agency! Although he isn't sure the time is right yet, the next step of the plan must begin. It is the trickiest part of all, the part requiring skill and focus and finesse from Rick, exactly the abilities that Michael knows he can't count on.

To explain the next step of his plan, Michael calls an emergency meeting with Fay and the ODS team. 


	4. The Plan

Chaos of the Heart: Chapter 4: The Plan

Pushing through the throng of women clustered around the door the ODS team's office, oblivious to their murmurs of awe and adulation and to the occasional thud, Rick, dressed in an undershirt, blue jeans, cowboy boots and leather jacket, stumbles into the meeting coffee cup in hand. Yes, there were thuds. Women drop like flies when operative Rick, universally acknowledged as the most handsome, desirable, and brightest star in the agency's sky, brushes by. Rick heads straight for the conference table and plops into the nearest empty chair, rubbing his weary eyes. Fay and the ODS team, already seated around the large round table, cease talking and turn to study Rick keenly.

Then Michael launches into an impassioned rant about Higgins crossing the line when he got Adele to seduce Rick and pump him for information about the ODS team's operations. It's unacceptable! Outrageous! This kind of thing must be stopped once and for all! Then Michael lowers his voice and says he is about to reveal the next step of his plan. Everyone hushes and leans forward, intent on Michael's words. Because it is a given, explains Michael, that Rick harbors deep and passionate hate and resentment towards Adele, and also that she now shuns the attentions of all men, the next phase will be particularly difficult, and will require extraordinary skill to accomplish.

Rick sets down his coffee cup and glances around the hushed group expectantly.

Michael announces the next phase of the plan: Rick is to seduce Adele.

Gasping loudly, Rick jerks upright, eyes wide with astonishment. Oh, happy day! Rick quickly drops his gaze, rubs his chin slowly and contemplatively, appearing lost in intense, melancholy thought, hiding his jubilation. His heart sings and his pulse races! Michael will permit him to look upon Adele's beautiful face, speak into her exquisite ears, gaze into her lively blue eyes, kiss her pouty red lips, stroke the golden hair which floats like a shimmering halo around her face and neck. Hallelujah! With Michael's approbation, he may again be her lover. But only if she'll have him! His ecstasy is short lived, soon replaced by the pain and agony of self doubt. She won't have him because she hates him. She hates him for dumping her, and even more for how he did it.

Rick looks up, shakes his head somberly, and admits he doesn't know if he could ever win back her love. Especially, it pains him to admit, since he never had it in the first place. He stands up, peels off his leather jacket, and flings it down onto his desk in despair and frustration. Dejected, he sits, hands clasped behind his head, elbows to the ceiling, and leans back, his mind alive with wondrous visions of the lovely, but unattainable, Adele.

Fay's eyes are irresistibly drawn to Rick's scantily clad abs and bulging biceps. She fans her face and says to no one in particular, "Is it hot in here?" Ever since Rick broke up with Adele, she, like every other woman in the agency, wishes to be his next girlfriend. She almost had him once. She rues the day she let him slip through her fingers! She flutters her eyelashes at him but Rick fails to notice.

"I know it won't happen overnight," says Michael. "We have to have reasonable expectations." He allows that Adele will be a tough nut to crack. It will be a challenge for Rick to pierce her hardened armor with cupid's arrow, especially given their history. Especially since he will find it so terribly repugnant to woo and to make love to a woman he hates. "But if you can act in love with her convincingly enough to win her heart, you will regain your confidence," Michael assures Rick. "You will know you can do anything," he says. "Rick, I'm asking you to go under cover. Deep undercover, if you catch my drift." Rick has a dreamy look on his face. By now, Michael is used to Rick losing his concentration. "Do you catch my drift?" Michaels repeats a little louder. "I do," replies Rick. "And I could do that, " he tells Michael gravely. "If I can get that far. But how can I," he laments sadly, "when she hates me?"

"I have a plan." Michael then describes a complicated multistep plan, requiring the team to plant a trick running shoe at Adele's home, then for Rick to appear to meet Adele accidentally while jogging, then for the trick shoe to deploy suddenly, causing Adele to fall and injure her ankle, and for Rick to perform a romantic rescue, carrying her to the hospital. "A bullet proof plan," claims Michael, "a sure-fire way to win any woman's heart."

Fay demurs. She objects to causing injury to Adele. Pain and romance do not mix, she says. She waves her hand dismissively at Michael, and disparages his notion of a romantic gesture. "This sort of idiocy," she says, "is why I left him."

Billy interrupts Fay's harangue to suggest another plan. He outlines another complicated multistep plan, requiring Rick to learn to play the guitar, to learn to sing romantic songs, to memorize romantic poems, and then to sing and recite these to Adele. It will take forever, object all the others, and not only that, everyone agrees, it wouldn't work because Rick has no musical talent, whatsoever. Rick wishes he could crawl under the table.

Casey speaks next. He boasts that he is the expert in this subject and reminds them of his success with Doris. They laugh. He stares them down dourly and continues, asserting confidently that he can win over any woman, but that he couldn't teach a dolt like Rick all his secrets even if he were willing to reveal them. He suggests wiring Rick up before he goes to see Adele, so that Casey can talk him through the seduction. He will tell Rick step-by-step what he is to do and what he is to say. "Brilliant," exclaims Billy with excitement, "a modern take on the Cyrano de Bergerac method!"

Fay demurs again. Her eyes fixed on Rick, she stands up, plants her hands on the conference table, and leans towards him, smiling indulgently. Lost in his own problems, Rick ignores Fay. Drat, she thinks, all her flirting with Rick is not getting her anywhere!

Fay explains that she thinks their plans are far more complicated than necessary. She has observed Adele closely and thinks that despite appearances the rumors are working and she is secretly in love with Rick, fighting her fierce attraction to him with every tenacious fiber of her strong spirit. "She's close to the breaking point," says Fay. To everyone's shock and surprise, she suggests that Rick simply march into Adele's office and ask her out on a date.

Rick instantly jumps up, grabs Fay by the shoulders and stands close to her, face to face, demanding to know if she is serious. He demands to know if Adele might accept a date with him. "Probably," squeaks Fay. "It is worth a try," she adds.

Too impulsive to wait and listen to the rest of Michael's plan, Rick grabs his leather jacket, dives through the thudding throng of women at the doorway, and dashes to Adele's office. 


	5. The Invitation

Chaos of the Heart: Chapter 5: The Invitation  
><strong><br>**Rick pauses briefly outside Adele's office to assess the situation. Praise heaven! He is in luck! She is at her desk. She is alone. Rick pops his head in and asks if he may enter.

Flabbergasted, Adele quickly closes the file marked confidential she is reading, and says, "Sure, I'm not doing anything important."

Immediately Rick stands before her. Only her desk is between the two.

Suddenly dumbstruck, Rick stares, stunned to see her looking so different, with her somber expression, mousy appearance, drab clothes, and sedately coiled hair. She looks so very different from when he last saw her. She looks so sad his heart cries.

Adele stares at Rick, speechless as well. She is glad she is sitting down because her knees go weak. Rick looks so hot in his leather jacket and jeans! Sweet Rick was very handsome, but he never looked as wicked handsome as bad Rick. She thinks the black beard growing in gives him a cute, slightly dangerous, piratey look. He stands before her silent, slowly taking her in, the intensity of his gaze sending a shiver down her spine. And, oh, his distressed face, the misery and hurt in his dark eyes, the heavy shadows of fatigue under them. Her arms ache to hold and to comfort him.

Neither speak, their eyes locked in a lingering gaze. A wary, searching gaze. A gaze that attempts to cross the gulf of misunderstanding which separates them. Time passes.

Adele does not know what to say. After Rick has ignored her for so long, she wonders why he came to see her. What does he want with her, she wonders. She wishes she had dressed with more care. She is embarrassed by her dowdy dress. Uncomfortable memories flood her mind. She is disgusted afresh by her despicable behavior towards him. She is sorry. She regrets everything. She wants to make it up to him. She wants her sweet Rick back with all her heart. Another chance! If only he didn't hate her she'd be so happy. But it is too much to hope for. Blushing hotly, she bites her lip and lowers her eyes.

Rick sees her turn scarlet clearly, because her skin is not covered by makeup, and he is touched and charmed by the display of strong and genuine emotion. With a pang he realizes it's something he's never seen before. But what emotion is she feeling? He recovers the ability to speak and asks her to dinner.

Adele is speechless and concentrates on packing the file into her briefcase. This is not the tirade she feared. This is not what she deserves. It is too good to be true. She is suspicious of his motives and thinks it might be some kind of trick but she doesn't want to challenge him.

"How about checking out that new restaurant in your neighborhood?" says Rick, pressing ahead although disturbed by her silence. He is pretty sure that Fay must have been wrong about Adele's secret feelings.

Adele looks up, surprised and pleased that he noticed a change in her neighborhood. "Which new one?"

"The one with Parisian cuisine," Rick blurts out. "Parisian," he adds, "like our first date."

He speaks seriously and with such sincerity it makes Adele's heart skip with joy. He doesn't hate Paris! He doesn't hate her! He sounds just like sweet Rick! She smiles and nods. It is her first smile in ages.

"How about tonight at eight?" asks Rick, emboldened by her smile.

"Perfect," says Adele.

Instantly Rick pulls out his phone and makes a call. "Done!" he exclaims. "We have a reservation," he says. "We have a date!" he declares in a tone of shock and wonder.

"Oh," breathes Adele, "that's nice." She wishes she could say something clever, but she can't think of anything. All she can think is, how many hours is it until eight o'clock. But she doesn't want to take her eyes off him to check the time. There is an awkward pause in their conversation.

"Can I ask you a favor?" asks Rick.

"Sure," says Adele, "anything."

"Will you wear your red dress and your hair down?"

Adele nods. She is happy that Rick remembers how she used to look, and even more that he wants her to look how she used to look. She misses her pretty self too. "Can I ask you a favor?"

"Sure," says Rick, "anything."

"Will you wear what you're wearing now, " asks Adele, "don't change a thing."

"Of course, " says Rick, "whatever you want."

Neither of them thinks or cares about looking odd together, one dressed so formally and the other so casually.

Rick glances at his watch, it is just after three in the afternoon. He offers Adele a ride home, whenever she needs, he's already done for the day. He gestures at himself and smiles, he's already ready for their date.

Under her desk, Adele kicks the plug out of her computer. "Technical malfunction," she says, showing him her blank screen, "no more work for today, I'm ready to leave too."

When Rick drives Adele home they are both subdued and on tenterhooks, ecstatic with their progress so far, but terrified that an ugly fight might spontaneously erupt at any moment, destroying any hope they have of getting back together. Both are so careful to avoid saying anything which could be misinterpreted as inflammatory or hurtful, that like strangers sharing an elevator, they talk about the weather. When they arrive at her house, Rick is relieved when Adele rushes straight to the bedroom to get ready for the date. But they are both acutely aware that it doesn't make any sense since it is still hours before the reservation.

Rick waits anxiously on the sofa in her living room becoming more upset by the minute. What will he do when she comes out? He debates what his first move should be and when he should make it, and realizes he knows very little of the tricky art of seduction. He has not had any practice in recent times, or, to put it more precisely, ever. He is not the kind of guy who does that kind of thing. He jumps up and paces, pulls off his leather jacket, and runs his fingers through his spiky hair. He really wants to do this. He absolutely has to succeed. Not only for himself, he needs this triumph for the team. He wonders if he should've accepted Casey's suggestion. He sits back down and scratches his chin while pondering. He regrets he didn't shave that morning. He despairs - the car ride was so awkward he could hardly speak - how can he possibly make a good impression at dinner? He considers faking an emergency, telling her he has to leave, and putting the date off to another night so he can prepare better.

Interrupting his thoughts, Adele calls out to him, asking him for a hand. As sometimes happens, she explains, her long hair is snagged in the zipper of the red dress.

Eager to help, Rick leaps to his feet and rushes into her bedroom to rescue her silky golden tresses from the teeth of the troublesome zipper. 


	6. The Red Dress

Chaos of the Heart: Chapter 6: The Red Dress  
><strong><br>**At Adele's call, Rick enters her darkened bedroom, the heavy brocade drapes blocking out the afternoon light, and he sees her standing motionless with her back to him, between her four-poster bed and her reflection in the ornate mirror, softly illuminated by an elegant lamp. She stands with her head turned in profile, peering at her back's reflection, one hand holding her entangled hair and the other the zipper. The lamp's light glitters on her long blond hair, and warms her back's inverted triangle of creamy bare skin, exposed by the v-shape of half-zippered red dress and cut across the middle by the red band of her bra. After his eyes adjust to the low light, the scene, as artfully composed and lit as a Rembrandt painting, takes his breath away.

When Rick picks up her hair and grasps the zipper's tab, Adele catches a glimpse of his reflection in the mirror and is struck by the captivating sight of him standing behind her, so close she can feel his breath on her neck, with his biceps bulging out of his undershirt, his cute derriere clad in snug jeans, his gentle hands working to free the tangle of hair, his kind expression of earnest concern. How could she have tricked him and lied to him the way she did? The way she is, even now? She hangs her head, ashamed of herself.

Rick loves the feel of her hair, redolent of lavender and still slightly damp from the shower. Handling the silken strands soothes his jangled nerves. He slowly eases the zipper's teeth apart until he has tugged all her hair free and the zipper is down to her waist. He gathers the fragrant hair into a neat bundle and coils it over her shoulder, and then, puzzled when she doesn't speak or move, announces that he is done. Still she doesn't move, he only sees the slight rise and fall of her back as she breathes, so he turns her around by the shoulders. Her head is bowed and he touches her chin, tilting up her face. Wearing no makeup, she looks pure and vulnerable. They are the same height so he can look directly into her wide blue eyes and is surprised to see tears forming there. He wonders if he hurt her. The tears begin to fall and Rick cups his hands around her face and brushes them away with his thumb-tips. Still she says nothing. "Did I hurt you?" he asks.

"No," she says. "It is I who hurt you." Then she apologizes and confesses that she loves him and asks: "Can you forgive me?" She murmurs all this quickly, her voice catching as she declares she always loved him. She covers his hands with her own, holding them on her face. Tears roll down her cheeks as she awaits his answer.

It occurs to Rick, and the thought hits him hard, that in all the time they dated he had never seen Adele cry. She had always been as tough and impervious as her red-lacquered fingernails. Instantly, he is on his guard, tense, skeptical. Here in her bedroom, where she had, in effect, interrogated him, he suddenly doubts her tears are sincere. Ha! She'd always loved him? If spying on him is supposed to be love, he thinks, she has a strange way of loving someone! Anger begins to simmer inside him. Outright manipulation! Exactly what the others told him. And she expects him to fall for it? Incredible. Incredibly galling! He forgets he was planning to seduce her and instead lashes out. She never said she loved him before, he accuses. "Why are you saying this now?" he demands to know. "Why should I believe you?"

"I didn't know that I loved you before," she cries, "but I know it now. It's true! You have to believe me." She tells him she wants him back.

Her face in his hands, Rick, silent and unconvinced, scans it, judging her, trying to weigh her words against her actions. This isn't what he'd expected, everything happening so fast. He'd thought he'd have all of dinner to take control of their relationship. He is confounded by a muddle of conflicting emotions: regret, hurt pride, attraction, mistrust. How can he forgive her? Can he ever forgive her? He needs more time to think.

Adele kisses Rick, but he doesn't kiss her back. She is becoming alarmed. He is not reacting the way she'd expected, he's too suspicious. Her confidence shaken, she asks him: "Are the rumors really true?"

Frowning, Rick puts a thumb-tip on her lips. "No questions," he warns.

His thumb rests lightly on her mouth as they gaze into each other's eyes, their faces less than an inch apart. Her blue eyes plead, his black ones accuse.

"Don't ask me questions," he says, flushed and breathing hard.

She nods meekly.

"No questions," he mutters hoarsely. The warmth of anger is soon overpowered by the rising heat of desire. He can still feel and taste her kiss and he wants it now, and more, much, much more.

Adele senses his mood change, and, pleased, takes his hands from her face and places them on her shoulders, on top of the dress's straps, and pushes them down her arms letting the red dress fall to the floor. Then she stands before him, wearing only a red bra and panties, and puts his hands on her waist.

"What are you doing?" he says, although he knows exactly what she is doing. Oh, no, he doesn't need a guidebook. She is good. Has he not always admired how very, very good she is?

Adele rubs a finger playfully over his lips. "No questions," she whispers, "right?" Her confidence regained, she trails her finger along his jaw caressing the stiff bristles of his beard, smiling coyly, waiting for him to react.

Rick scans her up and down slowly. She's Adele again. He shakes his head slightly, relaxes and grins. Maybe she loves him or maybe she doesn't. It doesn't matter what their relationship is, he still wants it. He still loves _her_.

She kisses him, and, feeling him kiss her back this time, she slips her hands under his undershirt and pushes it up. His pulse races from the electrifying sensation of her hands sweeping over his skin, and he reluctantly lets go, breaking the kiss, to raise his arms for her, a familiar gesture, letting her slide the undershirt over his head. As soon as it is off, his lips find hers again.

The kiss instantly dispels all the suffering and torment from the breakup and ignites an urgent and intense desire far stronger than either has ever felt before. She wraps her arms around him and falls backwards on the bed, pulling him onto her. They fall together into the welcoming bed.

They do not dine at the Parisian restaurant that night, instead choosing to spend the rest of the day in her bed, and, later, with Adele cradled in his loving arms, his face buried in her fragrant lavender-scented hair, Rick finally gets the good night's sleep he so desperately needs.

It isn't until after he awakens the next morning refreshed, that Rick first begins to wonder about the rest of Michael's plan. 


	7. The Morning

Chaos of the Heart: Chapter 7: The Morning  
><strong><br>**Awaking from a deep slumber the next morning, Rick is refreshed. He nestles into the soft sheets and pillows of Adele's luxurious four-poster bed with his eyes closed, completely relaxed, very reluctant to get up. It has been a long time since he has felt this well. Letting his mind wander freely, he thinks of how surprised Michael will be when he finds out how fast he won Adele back. Tada! Pretty quick work, he thinks proudly. One night! It is his first success for the ODS team in too long a time. And he is satisfied with how firmly he handled Adele - he kept his cool and laid down the law - she knows she won't get any ODS team's secrets out of _him_ anymore!

He briefly wonders what Michael's plan is, but lovely thoughts of the beautiful Adele soon muscle in, and he contemplates his renewed relationship with her with wonder and joy. She loves him! She told him so herself. He is sure of it, too. Well, he thinks, _sure_ may be too strong a word. Adele is very good at deception and she is a convincing actress, he has seen the proof of it. She says what she needs to, to get what she wants. No, no, he decides, she really does love him, she had always loved him, she just didn't know it. Yes! And his clever, clever heart knew all along! That is it. He is sure. He loves her and she loves him. It is simple, really. Simple. Except for the fact that they are both spies, accustomed to lying and keeping secrets. That's the only little wrinkle. Well, that, and the fact that she works for Higgins and he works for Michael, and they are enemies. Just two wrinkles. Two, and also he is pretending to hate her so he can stay on the ODS team. Just some minor glitches. That's all. Nothing that true love shouldn't be able to easily overcome.

He thinks over the previous night's activities. Like everyone else, he had heard of the mythical, magical, wondrous pleasures of makeup sex, but last night was the first time he'd experienced it himself. It was fantastic. Yes, indeed! Being an easy going sort of fellow not prone to rocky on-again off-again relationships he never knew what he had been missing. Hoo-boy! Last night was … hmmm … he couldn't immediately think of a superlative superlative enough to describe last night. It was amazing. Adele was amazing. Now, it could well be that Adele's tearful avowal of love was faked, maybe it was, it could be, it was so very unlike her … no, no, no, what is he thinking? She does love him, she does, it's a fact he has already decided. But in any case, the rest of last night she definitely did not fake. His masculine pride does not admit the possibility. There is no doubt in his mind that she felt every superlative just as superlatively as he did.

He reaches out for Adele but the bed is empty. He opens his eyes, the room is dark, the thick drapes still closed. He is disappointed she isn't there, until he hears a crackling sound from the kitchen. Ah! She is up, and she is cooking, how wonderful, he is famished! They skipped last night's reservation at the Parisian restaurant and this morning his appetite has returned with a vengeance. He smells the air, something is cooking but he can't quite tell what. He visualizes a large plate piled high with thick pancakes, drenched in sweet syrup, sunny eggs and plump sausages tucked all around them. Egads! Did Adele get up early to prepare breakfast for him? The joys of making up just get better and better! Adele in the kitchen cooking, what a thing! She is accomplished at so many things but even he wouldn't say she is much of a cook. Usually they stop for takeout on the way to the agency. But today is special, obviously it is. She's making him breakfast. _There_ is the proof of love! No question. Who would question it? She's so in love with him she's making him breakfast in bed.

He detects a burning odor, it must be toast burning, he can smell it distinctly. She must be busy frying eggs or pancakes or sausages and letting the toast burn. If she doesn't get to it soon the toast will be ruined. He worries, if he runs to the kitchen to rescue it, would she resent his interference? She obviously wants him to stay in bed. He really doesn't want to run the risk of upsetting her today. He wonders if he should pull on his boxers just in case. The smell of burning becomes stronger and Rick begins to wonder why none of the house's smoke detectors are squealing. It is too dark to see so he turns on the bedside lamp and looks up at the ceiling. There is a dangling screw where the bedroom's smoke detector should be mounted. How strange it isn't there. He's certain there used to be one there. How odd. Tendrils of smoke appear around the edges of the bedroom door. His heart begins to pound.

Alarmed, Rick leaps out of bed and runs to the door. When he touches the door handle it is hot, scorching hot. He checks the door panel, and it is hot too. The smell of smoke is strong now, definitely worse than before and he can tell the crackling noise is a lot closer than he thought, much closer than the kitchen. Fire! There's a fire on the other side of the door! The house is on fire! Where is Adele? Rick calls out to her but she doesn't answer. His stomach tightens into a knot. Did she set the kitchen on fire? Did she run out of the house? Would she leave him in a burning house? Is she trapped in the kitchen? He must find her! He calls her again, but still there is no answer.

He scans the bedroom. The only escape is through the window and he runs to it. Just as he is about to pull aside the brocade drapes he hears a hissing sound barely audible over the crackling of the fire. It's the shower! Rick runs to the other side of the bedroom, to the door of the adjacent bathroom. The door is ajar, the shower splashing full force. He calls to Adele but gets no answer. Rick pushes the door open a little farther and sees the shower curtain fluttering against the edge of the tub. He calls her again, and again, gets no answer. What is going on? He steps in and looks around, there is no exit from the bathroom.

With the deadly smoke thickening in the bedroom, there is no time for propriety. He slams the bathroom door, jumps over to the tub, and yanks back the curtain. 


	8. The Window

Chaos of the Heart: Chapter 8: The Window  
><strong><br>**Shutting the bathroom door to keep out the smoke, Rick leaps across the bathroom and pulls back the shower curtain. First, the smell of lavender shampoo hits him, then Adele does. Next thing he knows he is lying face down over the edge of the tub, with Adele's knee planted in his back, and a razor pressed firmly against his neck.

"Rick!" screams Adele, shocked to suddenly recognize him. She laughs. "What are you doing?" she shouts, dropping the razor.

Bent awkwardly over the edge of slippery tub Rick struggles to get up. He stays bent over for a bit, waiting for the pain in his lower region to subside.

"You surprised me! Why didn't you knock?" she says, helping him up, peering into his face with concern.

Fighting for breath, Rick stares back at her, speechless from the short but painfully effective attack, relieved that she is okay.

"Fire," croaks Rick, terribly distracted by the sight of bubbles of shampoo and rivulets of water wending their way down and around Adele's pleasingly proportioned body parts all the way down her shapely legs to her red-painted toenails. He forces his eyes back up to her face and waves a hand in the direction of the bedroom, behind him.

"Well, say no more," smiles Adele, thinking that he means _he_ is on fire. "There's room for two," she says gaily, and, glad he is already naked, she pulls him under the spray.

The air in the bathroom is fresh and the pelting shower deafens him, so, for a moment, the fire seems hardly real. Rick fingers a bruise forming on his cheek and shakes his head, stunned and chagrined he was incapacitated by her so quickly.

"Aw, baby. Sorry about that. It's not my fault men are so vulnerable there," says Adele contritely. "Just don't surprise me, okay? I've been on edge lately. Let me make it up to you." She starts to lather him with soap.

"No, no!" cries Rick. His mind back on the fire, he stumbles out of the shower, against her protests.

"Rick, come on," says Adele, clinging to him. "Don't be mad! Please! I'll let you win next time. I promise. It'll be fun."

"No, Adele, the house is on _fire_!" shouts Rick, grabbing her and pulling her out.

Barely comprehending him, Adele steps out beside Rick, dripping water and bubbles onto the bathmat, her hair foaming with shampoo, the shower still spraying. "What?"

"Your house is on fire!" says Rick. He grabs a couple of hand-towels and drenches them in the shower. "We have to jump out the window."

They pause at the doorway shocked by the thick acrid smoke filling the bedroom. There isn't time to get dressed. There isn't time to do anything except get out of the house. They drop to their hands and knees, and, holding the wet towels to their mouths, crawl across the floor to the bedroom window.

Rick knows her bedroom window overlooks a back lawn carpeted with soft grass, but it is a big drop so they will need to jump carefully to land without getting hurt. He tells her about the missing smoke detector and Adele is surprised to learn it isn't there. The coincidence of the fire and the missing detector seems mysterious, definitely suspicious, to them both.

When he reaches the window he pulls back the drapes and sees bars securing it. "Bars? Looks like a jail!"

"I told you I'm being followed! I've been so afraid I had them installed on all the windows."

"Oh, really?" says Rick, grabbing a hold of the bars. "I always thought that was some kind of spy pickup line."

Rick tries to budge the bars but they don't move, so Adele leans in front of him to point out the release lever, but discovers it is missing. Adele and Rick stare at each other, their eyes wide above the wet towels over their mouths. The room is getting warmer and the stinging smoke is thickening rapidly.

"Quick," shouts Rick over the loud crackling noise of the fire. "Find me something to open this! A pencil, a pen … anything!"

Adele yanks open the top drawer of the bedside table and paws through it until she sees a screwdriver. "Some guy left this here," she says, handing it to Rick.

Trying not to wonder who brought his screwdriver to Adele's bedroom, and why, Rick pokes it in the bar's release mechanism and wiggles it until the catch pops open. Rick shoves the bars back and unlocks the window, but it won't slide, the window pane is jammed. _Unbelievable!_ They are beginning to realize that someone has gone to a _lot_ of trouble to trap Adele inside the burning house.

"Do you know who it is?" asks Rick, looking around the smoke-filled room for something to break the window. "Who'd want you out of the way?"

"You mean," says Adele dryly, "aside from the ODS team?"

"You know?" says Rick. She knew! Wait … _what_ did she know?

Adele shrugs.

"Ah, okay, who _else_?" Rick spots an upholstered chair below the mirror. It would work.

"I have lots of enemies, doesn't everyone?" replies Adele, coughing. "I've been at the agency a long time. Handled a lot of cases."

Rick grunts and crawls under the choking smoke to the chair. "Well, I think one of them has a very unhealthy interest in your health."

"But does he know _you_ are here?" says Adele, peering out the window. "Do you think he's waiting for me outside?"

"I don't know," replies Rick. "Only one way to find out."

Rick grabs up the heavy chair and rams through the window, smashing out the glass. The flickering flames curling under the bedroom door flare up when fresh air is sucked into the room. The fire is growing fast. Rick lays his wet towel over the shards of glass on the windowsill, and offers his hand to Adele.

"Ladies first," he says, and he drops her safely out the window and onto the lawn. Then he scoops up the red dress and his jeans, tosses them out, and scrambles out after her.


	9. The Car

Chaos of the Heart: Chapter 9: The Car  
><strong><br>**Rick drops from the window onto the soft grass of the lawn, and, crouching, looks back up to see flames shooting out of the window he'd just jumped from. All the house's windows are exploding, flames and smoke billowing upwards, glass raining down. He looks around the small yard, enclosed by neatly trimmed hedges and a high wooden fence, and sees Adele hiding in a shrub beside the back lane with her arm sticking out beckoning to him. He picks up the red dress and his jeans and sprints across the grass which is still soaking wet from morning dew.

"Another second and you would've been toast!" shouts Adele over the crackling noise of the fire. She grabs the red dress from Rick, steps into it, flips her hair over her shoulder, and pulls up the zipper.

"Burnt toast," says Rick, looking up at the house and thinking again of her kitchen, thankful she wasn't in there. He holds up his jeans and hops back and forth in a futile attempt to jam a wet foot down the correct leg.

"If you hadn't got me out of the shower …" says Adele, holding him steady until he finally gets the jeans on and buttoned up. "Oh, I don't even want to think."

"Look, keys!" he cries jubilantly, pulling them out of his pocket and holding them aloft. "Car keys!"

"Okay, let's get out of here!" Adele runs to the back gate, Rick one step behind her.

When they enter the laneway behind her house, they slow to a walk and she links her arm through his, acting nonchalant. They walk quickly to his car while scanning around to see if they are being followed, but they only see a pair of joggers jabbering excitedly on their phones about the rising smoke.

As soon as they turn into the leafy boulevard where they parked - a full block away so her nosy neighbors wouldn't gossip - they hear a siren. A fire truck screams past just as they reach the car and they watch it race by and then jump into the silver sedan.

"There they are," says Adele. "But it's too late! Everything will be gone."

He slips the key into the ignition, starts the engine, and grips the steering wheel tightly, afraid she will notice his hands are shaking. He pauses a moment to calm himself.

"Go, already!" says Adele, craning her neck around looking to see if anyone is chasing them. "Hurry!"

He rests his bare foot on the accelerator pedal as his mind whirls with ideas. "Where to? We have to think."

"Anywhere!" says Adele. "No, you can relax, I don't see anybody." She smoothes her dress, and stretches out her legs inspecting her dirty feet and shiny red toenails. "Thanks for the dress, and, not to mention, for getting me out of there!"

"You're welcome," say Rick, gazing at her with concern. "You okay?"

"Now I am," says Adele, gazing at him with a smile. She leans over and kisses him. "Good morning."

"You call this a good morning?" He catches her in his arms and kisses her slowly. "That fire was no accident."

"No," she murmurs, gazing up at him. She doesn't want to think about the fire.

"The missing fire alarm, the jammed window. They used accelerant, I'm thinking, because it grew so fast. Notice how it was timed exactly to your shower? Nice touch. Quality job. Someone wants you dead."

"It was no accident," says Adele, sighing and sitting upright. "I agree. But, who … why?"

"That's what we've got to figure out," says Rick, rubbing his chin, deep in thought. "And the sooner the better."

"Let's get some takeout to eat while we think," says Adele. "I'm starving."

"Me too. Got any money?" says Rick, patting his bare chest. "Seems I left my wallet in my other jacket."

"I don't have any money," says Adele with a smirk, patting her thighs, her stomach, and her breasts. "I don't have any pockets. I don't even have underwear!"

"Oh, really?" He squints sideways at her, his eyebrows raised. "Because I think you look perfect."

She laughs, flips down the sun visor, and peers into its mirror, examining her smudged face and tangled matted hair. "Yuck, I still have shampoo in my hair. Let's go to your place."

He steers the car out into the boulevard and looks around to see if anyone is following them, but he doesn't see any suspicious vehicles. "Looks like they didn't expect you to get out."

Their route takes them past the Parisian restaurant and when they get close they see traffic is reduced to one lane. The lane beside the restaurant is blocked by police cars and emergency vehicles.

"Well, will you look at that," whispers Adele, her eyes wide, her hand over her mouth. "That's the Parisian restaurant! I mean, _was_ …"

They are both staring at it because half of the building is missing. There is a gaping hole where the roof and front wall used to be. Several police officers and plain clothes detectives are measuring distances and taking pictures of the rubble and glass scattered on the sidewalk.

A traffic control person, directing the alternating lanes, signals them to a stop.

"What's up?" says Rick to the man.

"Explosion," he replies, stifling a yawn with the back of his hand. "Gas leak. Don't you listen to the news? Several dead, dozens injured."

"When?"

"About 9 o'clock last night." He shrugs. "That's all I know."

Rick and Adele stare at each other, not uttering a sound, until the flag man waves them to proceed.

"We should've been in there …" mumbles Adele. "We would've … oh, dear, oh, my …" She combs her fingers through her hair nervously.

In the next block, he sees a sign for a park and he turns in, and drives to a secluded spot overlooking the river. He stops the car and stares out at the river, his body rigid and his hands clenched on the steering wheel.

"Why are you stopping here?" asks Adele, breaking the uncomfortable silence. "I thought we were going to your place."

Rick puts the car into park, shuts off the engine, and turns towards her. While studying her face, he says in an icy tone, "_Who_ did you tell we were going to dine there?"


	10. The File

Chaos of the Heart: Chapter 10: The File

Rick and Adele are sitting in the car stopped at a park overlooking the river, reeling from the sight of the destroyed restaurant. After narrowly escaping the house fire they are stunned to learn that if they had kept the reservation the night before they would have been killed in an explosion.

"Who did you tell we were going there?" repeats Rick, glaring at Adele.

"No one," she says, clasping and unclasping her hands in her lap.

"You must have told someone," he says. "Someone must have known we were going there."

Adele shakes her head emphatically. "If someone told anyone, it was you."

"I know what I know," he says. "And since I don't believe that explosion was a coincidence and since I didn't tell anyone, you're it. _Busted_."

"No, think about it," she cries. "I was with you the whole time. There was no chance."

"In the bedroom, before I came in. You didn't call someone? Anyone?"

"No. I swear I did not."

"Fine, then," he says, slapping the wheel. "So this is great. This is just great. How _else_ could anyone have known? It's impossible!"

"Maybe your phone is bugged," says Adele. "You made the reservation on it."

"No. It. Is. Not! Don't even-" Looking away, Rick sucks in a deep breath and exhales it slowly. "My phone is fine." Was fine. Now it's a puddle of plastic melted into what's left of her living room sofa.

"Sorry, of course it is." Adele rests her hand lightly on his forearm. "I'm sorry, okay? I'm sorry I gave you that phone in Paris. It was a mistake."

Rick stares out the front window of the car, lost in thought. Michael, Billy, Casey, and Fay knew he was going to ask Adele out, but they didn't know where he was taking her, or when. In any case, he trusts them all two hundred percent. How could this happen? He wonders if he should report in to Michael immediately. Then an idea occurs to him.

"Your office is bugged," he says. "That's it. Someone is monitoring you, someone internal, someone in the CIA."

"_Internal_? You're kidding me! I don't believe it. There's no reason to think that."

"Because of you," he says, "I almost got killed twice last night. And we have no idea why or who or anything. Nada."

"Well, I thought the rest of last night was pretty awesome," she says sweetly. "It that makes you feel any better."

"I suppose it does a little." His eyes sparkle and dimple deepens as he grins at her.

"Come on, baby, let's go to your place." She smiles warmly and slides her hand up his arm, caressing his bicep. She leans in for a kiss.

"Not my place, it's too dangerous," he says, interrupting her. "If they knew about the restaurant reservation then they know about me."

"I don't want to go to work like this!"

"No," he says. "Not work."

"But isn't it the safest place?" asks Adele.

"Maybe, maybe not," he says. "Either way, we shouldn't go in to work right now."

"Why not? People are going to start to worry about me! Higgins and …" Her voice trails off.

"Higgins and … ?" He studies her face obliquely, wondering.

"And … everyone else. If they don't hear from me, they're going to be afraid I didn't get out of the fire."

"Look, someone is afraid that you might've _got_ out, and they won't know for a few hours. We should take advantage of the delay."

"Oh! What are you planning on doing?"

"I'm planning on being a spy. That's what I do." He unlatches his seatbelt and opens his car door. "I've got some running shoes in the trunk." Rick rummages around in the trunk and finds a pair of running shoes and a black hoodie with the sleeves cut off. And Adele's briefcase. He tries to open it but it's locked.

He dons the shoes and hoodie, hops back into the car, and slides the briefcase onto her lap. "Got anything good in there? A phone? Money?"

"Oh, no!" she says, her eyes wide, staring at the briefcase. "Uh-oh, did I leave this in your trunk?"

"Well, let's just say, _someone_ did."

"If Higgins finds out I'll be fired! This briefcase contains top secret CIA files. It's forbidden to leave it in a trunk. I forgot all about it."

"Hmmm … so that means someone thought you had it with you last night," he muses. "Files about what, exactly? Maybe someone wants them destroyed."

Adele dials the lock combination and opens the briefcase. The top file is the one she was looking at when Rick came into her office the day before.

"Uh-oh, this file shouldn't even be in here!" exclaims Adele. The file is stamped with about a dozen colorful warnings. "It isn't supposed to leave my office!"

"Let me see it." He reaches over to pick it up but she slaps his hand away and shuts the lid.

"You don't have the clearance to see that," she says. "It's an internal investigation. Dang! I'm not even allowed to say _internal_. Or _investigation_."

"_Internal_! I bet this file will have the clue!"

"No, it doesn't," she says. "Hey! Know what? I took over this file from Edgar. Poor guy."

Edgar, a colleague of Adele's, died in an tragic accident the week before when his condo's garage gate crushed him in two. Everyone in the agency had heard of the gruesome, and probably extremely painful, death.

"Ugh," he grunts. "What a way to go. Wait a minute, so who exactly decided it was an accident?"

"An internal CIA team," she says. "They concluded it was an freak accident."

"An _internal_ team!" he says. "And then … you got Edgar's file."

"It came to me yesterday," she says. "It's quite a feather in my cap actually. Not many people have clearance this high … and now there's one fewer."

"Yesterday! Within hours the restaurant you're supposed to be eating in gets blown up, and then, when you weren't there, your house burns down! Seems like someone's in a big hurry to get rid of you … or this file."

"It can't be _this_ file. I wasn't even supposed to have it with me."

"Your death was supposed to look like an accident," he says. "Just like Edgar's! The connection must be this file. Open it up."

"I can't let you see it. If they find out I did, I'd get fired."

"How will they know?" he says. "Look, this file might contain the _why_. This file might tell us the _who_, who's got something really big to hide. I'm just trying to figure this out."

"I know," she says. "But not this way. If you so much as open a classified file without clearance - and you do not have clearance - you will get fired."

"Or, if I don't," he says, tapping the briefcase's lid, "I will get _killed_."

"We don't know that," she says. "We don't know anything for sure. And it's my call. I've seen it, this file can't be related."

"Let me get this straight," he says, "I have clearance for this?" he puts his hand under her skirt and slides it slowly up her thigh, "But not for this?" he points to the briefcase with his other hand.

Adele laughs. "Yes. I'm protecting you." She kisses him, and slyly reaches down to lock the briefcase but discovers his other hand is already inside it. Startled, she lets go, and he snatches the briefcase off her lap.

"Hey!" shouts Adele.

He pulls out the file and scans over the various stamps declaring the astronomical level of security clearance required to read it. "_Internal_! Says right there. I'm positive this'll tell us the bastard that's trying to kill you."

"No!" begs Adele, placing her hand on top of the file. "Don't open it! Don't!"

Rick pushes her hand away, unfastens the securing clip, and opens the cover.

"No," Adele screams, "Rick!"

Rick gasps sharply as the name on the top page jumps out at him. The name is none other than his trusted mentor and beloved boss, Michael Dorset.


	11. The Bike

Chaos of the Heart: Chapter 11: The Bike

Shocked, Rick slumps behind the steering wheel, and, holding the file open in his lap, reads the name over again, slowly and carefully. He blinks. It still says Michael Dorset. Michael! His is the last name he expected to find in a top-secret CIA file in Adele's briefcase. A file that she had tried hard to keep him from opening. No wonder.

"You!" he gasps, turning to her, "you … you didn't tell me this was about _Michael_? Why you little-"

"No!" Thrusting her arm across the short distance from the passenger seat, she presses her hand over his mouth. "Don't say it!"

He grabs her wrist in a vise-like grip and yanks it away from his mouth. "I will say what I want! You _snake_!"

"No, Rick, no!"

"How long has this … this? Ah, I can't believe it. It's unbelievable! You, you-" Incoherent from rage, he holds her hand tightly and glares at her, his mouth clamped shut. Nostrils flaring, his face turns red, his lips white.

"I'm trying to protect you!" She claws at his face with the long red-lacquered fingernails of the hand he's holding, and darts the other one underneath towards the file in his lap. "You can't read it!"

Before she reaches it, Rick catches her other hand and pulls it up between them, holding it beside the first like they're handcuffed together. "You got the better of me once today, and that's enough."

Screaming "Hi-yaa!" she kicks at him, writhing her body and twisting her arms, but his iron grip holds and she succeeds only in hurting herself. "Ow … ow … ow!"

"Are you done yet?" Holding her wrists pinned firmly together, he waits until she stops struggling. The briefcase and file have slipped down his legs onto his feet but his hands are occupied with hers so he can't pick them back up. "Now, will you tell me what this file is about?"

She pants a while, then pouts. "Your dinky car's so small I can't get in a good kick."

"You never complained about it being too small before," he says, alluding to their many innovative and acrobatic make-out sessions.

"Okay, okay, you can let go of me now," she huffs, letting her arms go limp.

"That's better." He continues to hold her arms.

"Come on, Rick, I'm okay." With a foxy gleam in her eyes she chews her lower lip coyly. "Come on, baby, we're friends, right?"

"Stop that!" He keeps her hands firmly pinned, a safe distance from his face.

"Stop what?" She smiles and bats her lashes, leaning forward to permit her low cut red dress to reveal even more cleavage.

Since she is not wearing a bra, he can't help but to see everything there is. "Give it up!" he growls, angry because he finds her so attractive.

"I'm not wearing any panties."

"I'm not interested!" he says, although his body definitely is. Keeping a tight grip on her wrists, he jerks upright in the driver's seat, trying to cross his legs to hide the evidence he's lying, but the briefcase blocks his feet and the seat belt locks up. He can't move. He grunts in frustration and scowls at her.

She smiles and laughs confidently, a deliciously joyful sound. "Come on, you can let me go," she purrs. "I promise I won't do anything you don't want me to."

"No, I can't trust you." He frowns, stuck and unwilling to let go of her, wondering what to do next.

"Yes, you can. I love you. I only want what's best for you."

"Oh, that's a good one!" He chuckles humorlessly. "You love me? Tell me another."

"Just let go of me and I can explain."

"How about this idea?" he growls. "I don't let go of you and you explain. Make it good."

"I'm investigating Michael." She sits quietly and holds her arms up steady. "It's an internal CIA investigation. It's top secret."

"Okay, fine. Now tell me something I don't already know."

"I shouldn't. You shouldn't even ask me."

"Look, I'm asking nicely." He studies her face, keeping a tight grip on her wrists. "Adele, I have the file now so you might as well spill the beans."

"All right. They think someone's gone bad in CHAOS. There's a kind of sensitive situation."

"They … who?"

"I was specifically rotated into the department under authorization Whitehouse. Rick, I report directly to, and _only_ to, the highest level. As I said, I'm investigating Michael, but not only him, I'm investigating Higgins too."

"_The_ Whitehouse? The topmost level!" he exclaimed. "Wait … you're investigating Higgins too?"

"And … others. Frankly, everyone is under suspicion but you."

He smiles. "It's nice to know I'm trusted."

"You aren't," she says flatly. "You just haven't been around long enough to be a suspect."

"So, you're investigating Higgins … but aren't you working for him?"

"He thinks I am. I mean, he's supposed to think so." She shuddered. "My house burnt down, the restaurant blew up. Someone knows what I'm really doing there! Rick, I don't know who it is."

"Yeah, so you're using _me_ to find out," he says bitterly.

"I already told you I'm sorry for what I did."

"You're only sorry because I found out what you did."

"No, I'm sorry because I love you."

"Yeah, you love me." He tries to say this with a sarcastic tone but an involuntary sob at the end ruins the effect. Embarrassed, he clears his throat to cover it.

"Rick, I don't want to love you - in fact, it's destroying my career – but, really, I do."

"Oh, thanks, Adele, that makes me feel _so_ much better. At least Michael will be pleased to hear about Higgins."

"No, no, no! You can't tell him. You can't tell anyone anything I told you or you'll jeopardize the investigation."

"Oh, my, isn't that convenient?" He glares at her over her clenched fists. "I can't say anything, I can't check anything. Why should I believe you?"

"Because we're in love?"

"Ha! Don't make me laugh." He frowns, then glances down to the file on his feet. "I will help you stay alive. I will help you figure this out, but after that we're through. We're through for good. Consider yourself dumped." He sighs. "Again."

"No, I can't be!" she cries, tears glistening in her wide blue eyes. "Rick, no!" She blinks and the tears spill down her cheeks. She closes her eyes and bows her head between her raised arms. "Please!"

"Oh, puh-lease," he says gruffly, unmoved by her fetching display of emotion. "I can't trust you. I can't love you." He looks at her tear-stained face framed by her long golden hair, then turns away and looks out the window. An odd figure in the distance catches his eye. Intrigued, he tenses up and absentmindedly releases his grip on her.

Her hands suddenly freed, she covers her face and sobs. After getting no reaction, she flips open the sun visor and checks her face in the mirror.

His full attention still directed outside, Rick taps her shoulder lightly and points, "How long has that guy been there?"

"Who?" She turns to look out.

Rick and Adele peer intently through the passenger window at a heavily built man clad in a sleek black body suit almost hidden by shrubs. He is about 20 yards away on a knoll between the car and the river, squatting on his haunches behind a black racing bicycle, apparently checking its tire. They can see his lips moving, and, hanging on the bicycle, a bulky oblong pannier, a pannier long and wide enough to hold a couple of tennis rackets, or a few golf clubs, or, possibly, a machine gun.


	12. The Split

Chaos of the Heart: Chapter 12: The Split

"I really don't like the look of him." Adele leant forward and squinted through the windshield at the distant man squatting behind his racing bicycle, nearly hidden by trees and dark shadows. "He followed us here!"

"No one followed us," said Rick, "I'm sure of it." He scanned the deserted parking lot, and the clipped lawns and tidy gardens surrounding it, looking as deep into the forest and shrubs as he could. He eyed the entrance to the black asphalt bike path, which lead from the fenced parking lot to a path along the wide calm river. He didn't see anyone else. "It's a bike path, it's natural to see bikers here."

"He doesn't look right. Let's get out of here."

"Yeah. Maybe we _should_ go to the agency." Rick grabbed the file off his feet, tucked it into the briefcase, and twisted around so he could put it in the backseat.

"Look, Rick, he's talking again." She gripped his arm, holding him. "If he's just a biker, why's he doing that? I have an instinct!"

"It's called paranoia. No one followed us and there's no other way anyone could know we're here."

"Oh, no! That's it!" She grimaced at the briefcase in his hands. "I forgot about _that_!"

"The briefcase?"

"It has a GPS locater in it!"

"You mean they're tracking it! That explains why I didn't see anyone following us."

"And … they no doubt expected the signal to stop," she glanced at the clock on the dash, "about half an hour ago. It should've been destroyed in the fire but it wasn't. Now they've come to get it, whoever they are."

"If so, what's he waiting for?" He looked where the bicyclist had disappeared, and then all around as far as he could see into the park. "Is he waiting for someone? It sure is quiet."

Rick took the files out of the briefcase and dropped them on the backseat, and then curled forward to pat underneath the driver's seat. Adele raised her eyebrows inquiringly as he tore a piece of Velcro off the bottom of the seat and dug in the seat's stuffing. He pulled out his trusty gun and she watched as he checked over his prized possession lovingly, making sure it was loaded and ready to use. Then he offered it to her on his flattened palm. "Think you can handle this?"

"A beauty! Maybe." She took the gun from him, deftly assessing its weight and feel, handling it as skillfully as his weapons instructor. "I might be able to."

Rick flushed. "I'm sorry."

"I was a spy long before you, babe. I guess I've learned a few things."

"Yeah, I see. Okay, let's go." He opened his door, dropped the briefcase out, and turned the key in the ignition. At the sound of the engine, the distant man jerked his head up and looked straight at them. They watched him wheel his bike deeper into the shadows. Rick shook his head. "You were right."

"Too bad. We don't have too much of a lead."

"And he's probably armed, so you better get down. Hang on." Adele crouched down in the foot-well as Rick put his small sedan into reverse and pounded on the gas. He spun the car around and flew towards the lane leading towards the street. The squealing wheels sent a spurt of blue smoke smelling of burnt rubber into the surrounding bush. The car leapt over a concrete divider and around the sharp corner into the lane.

Bouncing on her knees, gun in hand, Adele braced herself against the seat and peeked over the dashboard. "Where'd you learn how to drive?"

"Billy. I guess I've learned a few things too." Rick kept a watchful eye on the rear-view mirror while the car veered back and forth along the narrow curving lane lined by clumps of trees and shrubs. "Where is he?"

She twisted around to look out the rear window. "I can't see him. Maybe I was mistaken."

"Head's up!" shouted Rick, slamming on the brakes.

Thrown violently against the dashboard, Adele wrapped her arms around her head. The gun fell at her feet. "What's wrong?"

"He's got friends!" A large black van with dark tinted windows was parked ahead, blocking the lane. A couple of men standing beside it dressed from head to toe in camouflage, weapons slung at their side, started walking towards them. "You gonna shoot?"

"I can't, I dropped the gun!" she yelled from below him, frantically sweeping her hands over the dark carpeted floor and under the passenger seat. "Where'd it go!"

"Can't wait! Brace!" Rick stomped on the gas, yanked the wheel around, and spun the car back towards the parking lot. Adele was thrown against the door, tumbling in the confined space of the foot-well. She bounced and landed face first on Rick's jean-clad shin then backed off gently, careful to not knock his foot off the gas pedal. The men scrambled back into the van.

Suddenly the startled face of the bicyclist loomed over the hood of the car. An instant before the car hit his bike, he leapt off it and rolled onto the sidewalk shouting and cursing.

Finally finding the gun, Adele wedged herself between the dashboard and the seat, facing backwards. She vainly attempted to steady the gun under the bouncing headrest and take aim at the van. Her first shot blew out the car's rear window. The second hit the van. Its windshield shattered and the van dropped back, trailing them too far back for another shot.

They burst from the lane into the lot and Rick careened through it, zigzagging over the neat white lines, the clattering bike stuck underneath, sparks flying. He drove to the other end, to the only exit from the lot - the bike path. Rick aimed the car straight between the pair of metal posts at its entrance and accelerated.

Adele turned and stared wide-eyed at the posts directly ahead. She screamed, "Rick, it's not wide enough!"

"Hold on!" yelled Rick, his hands clenched tight on the steering wheel. Curled into a ball, Adele braced herself in the foot-well.

The van raced into the lot behind them, but it was far too big to fit through the posts to the path. It skidded to a stop and the two men jumped out to join the bicyclist chasing them on foot.

The car ricocheted and scraped between the posts with a terrible grinding and screeching, dragging the crushed bike with it. First the left, and then the right, mirror broke off. Rick gunned the car until it finally crashed through the opening just a few steps ahead of the men. The mangled bike caught on one of the posts and sprang back into the faces of the men, knocking them down like bowling pins.

"You think my car too small now?" Rick laughed. His mirror-less gouged car lurched forward, spilling sparkling glass fragments from the blown out rear window as it rapidly regained speed.

Soon they were far ahead of the running men, speeding down the bike path and along the river. Trying to stay out of their line of sight, he wove around and over thickets of underbrush, the tires tearing up the turf and sending muddy divots flying.

"Uh, oh." He spotted in the clear blue sky the black dot of a helicopter approaching from downriver. "Okay, new plan," said Rick, looking down at Adele's golden head bouncing on her crossed arms on the passenger seat.

She looked up, her eyes smiling. "We have a plan?"

"Yes. We split up."

"No," she said. "Why?"

"You'll have a better chance this way. They're following the car. I'll lead them away from you."

"But what if they catch you?" She stared at him, her blue eyes darkening.

"They won't. Anyway, they don't want me, they want you. You or the files. Take my gun. Go."

"Thanks." She rubbed the still warm barrel of his beloved gun with her palm. "Rick, are we okay?"

"You're welcome." He looked down at her, and frowned. "No. There is no 'we' anymore."

"I just wanted to ..." Adele rested her chin on her fist, sighed, and watched Rick face as he stared intently ahead. "Can we talk later?"

"No. Don't even ..." He continued driving along the bike path until the men were far behind and then turned onto a trail, where they were hidden in the trees at the edge of the park and could see houses not far away. "You ready?"

Adele popped her head up and peered out the window. A dense thicket of trees hid them from the men. She grabbed the door handle, the gun in her other hand. "Ready."

He slowed the car. "Now!"

Coiled and ready to jump, she pulled the door lever but it didn't open. "It's jammed!"

Using one hand to hold the wheel steady, Rick lunged past her and banged the door open. He watched her as she sprang out of the car, a flash of flying blond hair, long athletic limbs, and bright red dress. He watched until she'd scrambled behind a bush and vanished in the shadows. She was gone before the door had swung shut.

He whispered under his breath, "Good luck!" and stepped on the gas. He sped back out of the thicket of trees and swerved sharply onto the bike path. He could see the men still running behind him. Pop, pop, pop! The tires burst making the car veer wildly and Rick fought hard to keep it under control. The car spun out and crashed head-on into a heavy maple tree, crumpling the front bumper and hood. The airbag punched him in the face and maple leaves and branches rained down, thumping on the roof of the wrecked car.

Shaken but unhurt, Rick pushed the airbag away and rubbed his face. Then he unlocked the belt, kicked the bent door open, scrambled out. After a quick glance around, he sprinted towards the river.


	13. The Surprise

Chaos of the Heart: Chapter 13: The Surprise

Rick's mind raced as he dashed towards the river. He wanted to get as far as possible from the wrecked car and, more importantly, from where he had dropped Adele. He knew the bicyclist and another man were not far behind him because he could hear them trampling through the underbrush yelling at him to stop.

Those men had bombed the restaurant, killing several innocent people, and set fire to her house after barricading them in, and he was damned if he was going to let the bastards get their dirty hands on her.

As much as he had issues with Adele, and there was no doubt he had _major_ issues with the double crossing vixen, he was more than willing to do his part to help her escape. At first he'd thought they could outrun them together after he managed to crash his car through the gate but that hope disappeared when he saw the helicopter. He felt his only chance to save her then was to get her out of the car and to entice them to keep following him. Then, when he'd gotten far enough away, he'd shake them. It was maybe not the greatest plan in the world but it was the best he could think of in the heat of the moment.

Only a few yards from the river, his lungs bursting, Rick wiped the sweat out of his eyes and urged his legs to move faster. Suddenly what felt like a sack of cement on his feet made him slam into the ground and taste dirt and grass. He wrestled and fought to free himself but the iron hands of the powerful man locked onto his arms and pulled him to his feet. It was the bicyclist in the sleek black body suit. He felt his fist pounding in his back as he yanked him upright and pushed him around roughly to face the other man. Rick glanced up at the second man warily.

"Where's the girl?" shouted the older man, panting. Greying at the temples, the fit man was dressed in camouflage and had a machine gun dangled from the leather strap over his shoulder. "Where is she?"

"Who the hell are you?" replied Rick with the thick accent of his Puerto-Rican grandfather, in an insolent manner that would have horrified the distinguished patriarch of the Martinez family. "I don't know nothing about no girl."

"In the car," said the bicyclist, shoving him from behind. "I saw her in your car."

"Not my car," muttered Rick wiping his muddy nose crudely with the back of his hand. "I was borrowing it from a friend, hey."

The man nodded a signal to the heavy set bicyclist, who patted Rick down thoroughly, plunging his beefy hands into all of his pockets one after the other.

"Nothing," said the bicyclist, releasing him. Rick had no wallet, no identification, on him.

The older man eyed Rick up and down. "Who are you?"

Standing there, Rick knew he would not look anything like a file photo of himself. His chin was covered by several days worth of stubble , he wore jeans and a hoodie with torn sleeves, and his sockless feet were stuck in worn out untied sneakers. He was putting on a thick accent, and the spaced out manner of a druggie.

"Who are _you_?" replied Rick with an flippant tone, although he was actually curious. He wanted to know who they were and why they were hell bent for Adele's blood.

Exasperated, the older man scowled. "I'm asking the questions here!"

Everyone paused to look up. The thundering sound of a low flying helicopter prevented all conversation and its windy downdraft bent tree branches and swirled loose leaves and twigs around them. It flew directly over them and then landed out of sight but close by. Probably in the parking lot, thought Rick, near the van. Near the remains of the bike he had run over.

As soon as the wind died down, the older man turned and walked back in the direction of the car. Rick followed after him, with the bicyclist behind, giving him a punch in the back every time him he attempted to drop back a step.

The sound of the helicopter's engine cut off abruptly just as they rounded a cluster of trees and saw the car, crashed head-on into a maple tree. Keeping his face expressionless, Rick absorbed the heartbreaking sight of his car: a wisp of smoke rising from the crumpled hood, the gouged doors and jagged stumps of side mirrors, shot out tires, and a sparkling lake of broken glass scattered out the back. The trunk and doors were flung open wide. The deflated airbag was visible in the front seat. The other man from the van was rummaging around in the backseat.

He stood up with Adele's top-secret files cradled in his arms and cried triumphantly, "These are them. Looks like we got them all. We got everything!"

"Everything except the blasted girl!" shouted the older man, pulling out his cell phone. He dialed, then pressed it to his ear. "Me. We have the files but not the girl. Seems like this punk stole the car and took us for a joyride. Yeah. What do you want me to do with this piece of shit?"

Rick stuck his hands in his pockets, shuffling, trying to look like a scared kid. He glanced behind him at the bicyclist, and said, "You don't want me, so I can just take off, eh?"

The hulking bicyclist crossed his arms and stared down menacingly. Rick turned back around.

The older man said, "What's your name?"

"Juan," said Rick sullenly. The man crooked his finger. Rick shrugged his shoulders. "Valdez."

"Juan Valdez," said the man into the phone, then he yanked it away from his ear. Everyone could hear the blistering invective emitting from it. Apparently the man on the phone did not believe Rick was a Columbian coffee farmer. The older man glared at Rick. "Your _real_ name?"

Rick sighed, then pulled himself up straight. "Jose."

"Jose who?"

Rick puffed out his chest and said proudly, "_Jose_ _Hernandez_."

"Jose Hernandez," repeated the man into the phone. He paused to listen. "No, sir. Says he doesn't know anything. Maybe. Why is this my problem? What do you want me to do with him?"

Rick glanced around, accessing the situation. He was surrounded by three big men and they were heavily armed. It was too far to reach cover if he tried to make a break for it. Would they let him walk away? They'd killed others, so why not him? It was starting to look like he might be blown away at any minute. Suddenly he spied a blink of red in the trees over the shoulder of older man. It was a bright red, the exact bright red color of Adele's dress! The red was only visible for an instant, but he knew Adele was there, lurking in a thicket of bushes, close enough to overhear everything, close enough to be aware of the danger he was in.

She came back to help him! He marveled at the incomprehensible idea. He'd told her to run! But she came back, even after he'd accused her of lying to him, broke up with her, and made her cry. But just because she came back to rescue him does _not_ mean anything is different, he warned his bursting heart.

Adele was a good fighter, he knew that for sure. She had bested him once already that morning, and later, in the car, she'd come closer to beating him up than he dared to admit. With the element of surprise and her help, he had a chance to escape. He needed to escape.

He forced himself to be calm, breathing steadily and deeply, hoping she would take action soon. He felt time stretching out and his senses becoming increasingly acute. He observed all around discreetly, swiftly determining the positions of the men and their weapons, anxious to provide expert partnering in Adele's surprise attack.

It was a good moment, with one man distracted by an armful of precious files, another by his phone, with the bicyclist behind him, lounging with his arms crossed, clearly bored.

The man grunted into his phone and patted his machine gun. He eyed Rick coldly.

Rick scanned the bushes again. He respected Adele's fighting skill and she had his gun. He trusted her to know when and how to strike effectively. But what was she waiting for? Oh, no! Were those berries, red berries? Had his freaked out brain tricked him into thinking Adele was there?


End file.
